"If the man was discovered, why wasn't he killed?"
"He was too well-connected, with others knowing what he was about. So Dr. Templeton had him committed elsewhere as insane."
"They simply took Templeton's word for it?"
"No. The man, Sanford Martin, was entirely insane at the time of his commitment. It is not that difficult for one skilled in our art to induce this state temporarily. Later, since the condition would pass, they had him transferred to this institution and registered under a different name. He told me of the goings-on at Arnheim."
I clutched at his sleeve.
"Sir, did he at any time mention the presence of a lady called Annie?"
"He did," Dr. Bedloe replied, "as a lady possessed of very unusual ability, who is working as Von Kempelen's assistant."
I turned away. I sank into a chair and buried my face in my hands.
"To have come so far," I said at last. "To be so late... ."
I felt Peters' arm about my shoulder.
"Now, Eddie, yer dunno yer late. As I'd heard Mr. Ellison say in the past, these experiments takes some time."
"I could arrange for you to speak with Sanford Martin, if you wish to verify what I've told you," Dr.
Bedloe said.
"That won't be necessary, sir," I told him. "You couldn't very well have made up something like that, something that fits so closely with the facts as I know them."
"Eddie, yer won't make good time travelin' with Valdemar," Peters told me, "and Ligeia won't leave him."
"I know."
There came a babble of voices from the rear of the building, seeming headed in our direction.
"I repeat my suggestion that you depart quickly," Dr. Bedloe said, "and seek your cart somewhere else."
"Do you want to come with us?"
He shook his head.
"Can't," he replied. "And in here I do some good. I've cured a number, to date."
We got to our feet. We shook his hand again.
"Good luck, boys," he told us.
"We'd better run, Eddie," Peters said, as the sounds of angry cries drew nigh.
We ran.
Once we were off the grounds and into the woods I opened my money belt, extracted gold coins and shared them with Peters, enabling him to obtain transportation for himself and the others. And a new casket for Valdemar. I had suggested that he remain in their company, as protector, while they were on the road north. This was not complete altruism on my part, as I still wondered at the strength of whatever loyalty he might have had for Seabright Ellison. I had never learned its nature or how it had come about.
I had the feeling, however, that he, too, was happy about remaining down here while I headed up there, to settle matters.
I embraced the sinister dwarf, with an affection I have felt for few. Under a Hunter's Moon, we parted.
How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung?
From A Paean, Edgar Allan Poe
XIV
"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet henceforward art thou also dead—dead to the World, to Heaven, and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."
From William Wilson, Edgar Allan Poe
It was night in the lonesome October when I went over the high wall of fieldstone, avoided an armed patrol and began to make my way through the miles of landscape garden toward the main house at the Domain of Arnheim. I could not be certain of the exact location of that edifice, but a recent visitation with Ligeia—who now seemed to have access to the kingdom by the sea—had left me with marching orders for the ascent of the Wissahiccon River. I broke into Landor's cottage that night and slept there, Ligeia having mentioned that Annie might have been confined to the place for a time. I did find there a Spanish comb such as she had once worn in her hair at Prospero's castellated abbey. I kept it, of course, and in the morning I pressed on.
The magnificence of the landscape gardening would, at any other time, have proved distracting. But I was blind to beauty now. Every night—and sometimes days, as well—came a fresh dream or waking vision, of Annie, of Ligeia, of distant Poe rushing toward his doom. Such a coming together of power and of disturbances told me that something in our relationship was building toward a climax.
Onward.
The visions of the local scene had all pointed in one direction: Ellison and his rivals had concluded that it would be better for them to join forces than to fight each other. My supposed benefactor was now in league with the men he had sent me to chase more than halfway around the world. Von Kempelen, here at Arnheim with them, would transmute a large amount of lead into gold. This hoard of precious metal would then be turned over to Ellison, as payment for vast properties—including Arnheim itself—considerable jewelry, and some other items of great worth. Immediately thereafter, all parties to the agreement would witness the destruction of the gold-making apparatus. No further production would occur to cheapen the price of gold and devalue the new hoard.
Onward.
The colors of autumn were all about me, as I moved my gaze from the sky-blue lake where the most recent vision had occurred. It involved killing Von Kempelen afterwards, so that the process would not soon be repeated.
Onward.
And so at last I reached the center of the Domain, the Paradise of Arnheim, and there I was overwhelmed by a gush of melody, an oppressive sense of strange sweet odor, and a dream-like intermingling of tall eastern trees, bosky shrubberies, flocks of golden and crimson birds, fountains, lakes, flowers, meadows, silver streamlets. For longer than I should have, I stood overpowered by the sensory assault, and then I entered there.
I took my way cautiously, but I encountered no patrols. Before me, upsprung from the midst of botanical grandeur was a great mass of semi-Gothic, semi-Saracenic architecture, glittering in the red sunlight with a hundred oriels, minarets, and pinnacles. Amazing.
As I drew nearer, I realized that the place was moated. I circled it, several times, keeping well-concealed by the profuse shrubbery. Seeing no other means of entry I selected a likely causeway and dashed across it.
Save for a barely perceptible crack down the front of the place, the masonry looked in excellent order.
I passed through a Gothic archway and approached a heavy wooden door. I tried it and found it unlocked. I entered.
There was much old woodwork, somber tapestries on the walls, and an ebon blackness to the floor. I crossed the room quickly and carefully, without making a sound, blade loose in its scabbard, pistol loaded, other surprises hidden about my person.
I stepped into a hallway and passed along it, inspecting each room that I passed. Seabright Ellison was in the third one to the left.
Seeing no need for a dramatic entrance, I merely walked in. It was a library, and Ellison in a maroon dressing gown of silk was seated on a dark, bulging lounge reading and smoking a cigar, a glass of what was probably sherry on a side table to his right.
He looked up and smiled as my shadow fell upon him.
"Perry," he remarked, "and right on time."
I was not about to play it his way and ask what he meant by that. I simply responded with my most important question:
"Where is she?"
"Here, and quite comfortable," he replied. "No one here would harm her, believe me."
"She is being held here and forced to do something against her will."
"I assure you she will be well-paid for her efforts," he said. "For that matter, you are owed considerable recompense yourself for your activities on my behalf."